As time pushes on, as the months and years pass by and life navigates its twists and turns, the things we learned in school sometimes blur into the trees and promontories of the background.

We might remember our first date, our best friend from school, we may recall, painfully, feelings of rejection and loneliness, moments of ridicule.

But how many in-class lessons do we remember? Can we remember anything pertinent our 8th-grade algebra teacher taught us? (Well, surely, Marc Kuslanski can!) How about 10th-grade history or chemistry? Sadly, so much is lost, often irretrievably so. But some lessons endure. Some remain vibrant and alive, decades later.

For me, one such lesson occurred one sunny spring day in English class when I was a freshman in high school. The teacher, a large, balding man with a soft voice, was a writer at heart, and sometimes, seemingly at random, he would provide the class with tips for the craft. Some of the students would roll their eyes, yawn, check their wristwatches. But I was riveted. Even back then, I knew I wanted to be a writer. So I watched as he scrawled his ideas on the blackboard, and I listened . . .

That particular early May morning, one of the first hot days after the grueling, gray upstate New York winter, at the start of class, he had written the following on the blackboard . . .

R

O

Y

G

B

I

V

“Can anyone tell me what those letters stand for?” he asked?

Several students looked away–at their sneakers, their desks, their textbooks, the wall–anywhere but at the teacher. But one girl raised her hand, eager to provide the answer.

The teacher nodded, but then explained that, today, they stood for something else.

“Let’s call them the colors of the writing rainbow,” he said. “Each letter stands for some quality you should always bring to your writing, be it essay assignments, newspaper articles, poems, or the great American novel.”

He turned to the blackboard, and began to write. Many of the students in class that day did not take notes on what followed. It wasn’t something we’d be tested on, after all. It was just an ancillary lesson, a teacher’s effort to venture outside the box of the curriculum and share with us something he loved, something he felt deeply about.

I did take notes, however, jotting them down in my spiral notebook. Even today, they serve as a reminder, a guide of sorts, and they were very much with me when I wrote The Eye-Dancers, like lingering echoes from an old friend.

What follows, in a nutshell, is what my 9th-grade English teacher taught that day.

***********

R is for “Read.” Any writer serious about his or her craft, first and foremost, needs to read. A lot. Read what you like and read a few things you don’t like. Learn what works and what doesn’t. Absorb like a sponge.

O is for “Open-mindedness.” When someone criticizes your work, listen, carefully, to what they are saying. Do not close your mind or your ears. Weigh the critique, objectively, examining its merit. Do not become defensive. If you agree with the criticism, even in part, then keep it in mind for future writing projects. If you genuinely disagree with it, factually disagree with it–then brush it off and move forward.

Y is for “Young.” “Even I can remember what it was like to be eight years old,” he said, smiling. “So surely you can, too.” Approach each writing project with fresh eyes and a child-like enthusiasm. Be excited. Be passionate. Don’t be jaded. Rekindle that sense of wonder you once had. Remember the first time you wrote something you loved? Try to approach each new creative project with the same spirit.

G is for “Give.” Give of yourself, generously, completely–be willing to bleed, to open your heart and spill its contents onto the page. Be honest with your readers always.

B is for “Basics.” They are not the most exciting aspects of the writing trade, but the fundamentals are crucial. Sweat the small stuff. Revise, revise, and revise some more. And learn the nuts and bolts of the language, the rules of grammar and usage. Don’t fall into the trap of saying, “That’s what my teacher is for,” or, “That’s what my editor is for.” You are your own editor.

I is for “Indefatigable.” Be tireless, be persistent, never give up. If you send out a hundred stories for publication and receive a hundred rejection slips back, send out the one hundred and first. Persistence is as important in writing, and pursuing your goals, as talent, perhaps more so. Do not allow yourself to quit. Hold on tight to your dreams, and keep reaching for the stars.

V is for “Vistas.” Explore new areas of interest, read and write in new genres. Swim far out, where you can no longer glimpse the land, and dive down deep into the creative waters. Try not to allow yourself to be pigeonholed as a writer. You are not exclusively a “poet” or an “essayist” or a weaver of “fairy tales.” You are not a “suspense” writer or a “romance” writer or a “young adult” writer. You are a writer.

*****************

When he was finished with this impromptu lecture, he simply segued into that day’s regular lesson. I can’t remember what it was.

That is impressive! That’s quite a statement/definition to remember after 17 years.:) Of course, being the nerd I am, I have to admit that I love geography! It’s one of my go-to categories in my nerd-favorite game, Trivial Pursuit!